


Say Something

by notjustmom



Series: What if... [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Minor Character Death, Sweet John, Wedding, couldn't sleep so I'm writing a sequel, somehow this turned into a Christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: a sequel to Almost Lovers





	1. Chapter 1

"John?"

John put down his laptop and looked into Sherlock's confused and worried eyes.

"Yeah, it's me." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You've been here -?"

"You can't tell? I've been here ten days, Mycroft almost lost it when I walked in and told the arseholes to get away from you. But, he shut his mouth, nodded and walked away. Heard he went back to London and started a few tiny wars. Traffic was mangled for days."

Sherlock's chest rumbled, as if in laughter, but pain creased his face.

"Shhh, sorry, you have pneumonia on top of everything else; you've been in and out of consciousness for the last week. What?"

"How? Why?" Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Irene. She showed up on the anniversary - texted me your location, then disappeared. I, uhm, left the cemetery and promptly drank myself into a stupor. That's why I wasn't here sooner. Why? Because I love you, you idiot."

"Sherlock?"

"Hey, don't. I, uhm, didn't mean to spring it on you like that. Just thought you should know." John reached over to wipe a tear that was making its way down Sherlock's face, then pulled back as he felt Sherlock flinch at his touch.

"Say something? Please?"

"I need to throw up."

"Not quite the response I was looking for, hold on a sec. Here, shhh, I'm not going anywhere." John pushed Sherlock's curls from his face, then cleaned him up when he was finished, and held a straw to his lips. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner."

"May seem like a funny question, but where is here, exactly?"

"Germany."

"How did I get here?"

"Irene."

"So, I didn't hallucinate her, she -"

"got you out of Serbia, in exchange for -"

"a new life. I remember. She said she owed me - wait. You just, uhm, you told me, you -"

"love you, yes." John's eyes twinkled at him.

"Will you come a bit closer?"

John scootched his chair a bit closer.

"Closer."

He scootched again.

"Put your face over here. I need to kiss you."


	2. Chapter 2

"Everyone, get out, now! Everyone, but you, Mycroft. NOW!"

Mycroft turned at the voice.

"Dr. Watson. How - damn that woman." He nodded at the staff who were attempting to calm Sherlock down as he fought through a nightmare. They shrugged and left the room.

"So. You were going to, what, patch him up and drop him back in London? No, you were going to let him stay dead, weren't you? Get him healthy enough to send him on your damn missions...ah, yes, that was your plan, wasn't it? He was so good in the field, you decided to send him back out there when he had healed enough. You were never going to send him home."

"Dr. Watson, I assure you-"

"Get out."

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, then looked into the eyes of the man who stood before him, changed his mind and quietly fled the room with as much dignity as he could muster.

John slowly walked toward the man who had stopped screaming at John's entrance. If he hadn't known it was Sherlock who lay before him -

"Sherlock? It's John." He picked up a damp, cool cloth and wiped his friend's face carefully. Sherlock inched closer towards his voice and opened his eyes. "Hey there. Shhh - I'm going to take care of you. No. I'm not angry at you, just breathe for me? Are you hungry?" A slight nod. "Good. I'm going to see what I can get for you -" Sherlock shook his head and reached out for John's hand.

"Ssstay?"

"Of course, I'm not going anywhere." He picked up the phone on the bedside table and a voice said, "Yes?"

"This is Room -"

"What can I do for you, Dr. Watson?"

"Could you send up a pot of tea, some biscuits and a vanilla milksha-"

"Chocolate, please?"

John grinned and nodded. "Make it a chocolate shake, thank you." He put the receiver down and glanced over at Sherlock who was studying his face.

"Since when do you like chocolate?" 

"Thought I'd walk on the wild side, a bit." Sherlock groaned as he tried to sit up.

"No, don't. Let me, please?" John adjusted the bed and gently moved him, trying to hurt him as little as possible.

"I am happy to see you." John whispered, as he sat back down.

"Are you? I wasn't sure -"

A nurse walked in then with a tray. "We have been told he is now under your care, Dr. Watson. I do have to say your treatment is a bit, hmm-unusual?"

"My patient is a bit unusual, nurse, if you hadn't noticed."

"Quite." She nodded and left them alone.

John held the cup for Sherlock as he took a sip. He swallowed, closed his eyes and considered for a moment. "Not bad, but I think I still prefer vanilla."


	3. Chapter 3

"Since when?" Sherlock whispered hoarsely, as he pulled away from John carefully and gazed into his friend's dark blue eyes.

"Hmmm? Since when, wha-? Oh. Honestly?" John rubbed his face and sat back in his seat.

"Please." Sherlock tried to take a deep breath, but was overwhelmed by another coughing fit. John stood up and held him gently in his arms until his breathing evened out.

"Since the moment I laid eyes on you." John murmured in Sherlock's ear.

"Liar." Sherlock shook his head and tried to pull away.

"No. No, you don't. Look at me. You know I can't lie my way into or out of a paper bag. Look in my eyes, and tell me I'm lying."

"John?" Sherlock found John's eyes again and John gasped. 

"Sherlock." John froze as he recognised the man he thought he had lost two long years ago. "It's you."

"Who else would I be, John?"

"I - you - I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I've missed you so much -"

"Not nearly as much as I missed you, I suspect." Sherlock muttered into John's hair.

John rolled his eyes and snorted. "You're still ridiculous..."

"...and miraculous, and beautiful." John continued as he kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"Still so beautiful," John whispered as he eased Sherlock onto his side and covered him with the sheet. "Now, I need you to rest, so you can get strong enough to go home with me."

"Home?"

"Baker Street. I want to take you home to Baker Street."


	4. Chapter 4

"John! No - John - don't -" Sherlock bolted up in the bed, eyes wide open, but unseeing.

John spoke quietly to the man trapped in his mind, in a labyrinth of a nightmare. "Our first case together, the serial suicides -"

" 'A Study in Pink' you called it - you - saved me, you barely knew me, yet you took a life to save mine. I never thought I was worthy -"

"You saved me first; a day earlier - you saw me, the real me, no one else had ever bothered to look closely enough."

"My deductions, simplistic at best, parlor trick really -"

"No, you understood that I needed to be needed, necessary to someone, of use, you made it seem like I had a choice, to show up at Baker Street the next evening or -"

"Don't. Please don't say it -"

"You knew how close I was, you knew I -"

Sherlock covered his face with his long hands and wept.

John moved from his chair and climbed into bed next to Sherlock, then carefully held him in his arms. "I'm here because you gave me hope, a reason to believe that life could be astonishing. I promise you, it will be again. Someday, it will be easier, I promise."

"I'm here because I can't imagine being anywhere else, but at your side."

"I do love you, John; in ways I still don't understand." Sherlock murmured against his neck.

"I know. Try to close your eyes, and rest, I'm staying right here. I'm not leaving you."


	5. Chapter 5

John had finally drifted off to sleep again when he heard a stealthy footfall enter the room. It wasn't the first time he reached for the weapon that was no longer there, but it was the first time he felt truly alarmed, until he noticed the familiar scent of Anthea's subtle fragrance.

"He's not going anywhere." John whispered as fiercely as he could, without waking up the man in his arms.

"Of course he isn't. I just thought you could use a few necessities, clean clothes? If you wanted to take a shower, I could stay -"

"He doesn't know you're here.:"

Anthea shook her head. "You were absolutely correct. Mr. Holmes was never going to send his brother back to London; it's why he used Ms. Adler for his extraction. He failed to take sentiment into his calculations. He always does. It mystifies him that his brother has something about him that 'engenders such fierce loyalty.' I believe that is cleanest version of his rant that I can come up with. He spent a day locked in his office, would not take any calls. I told him I needed a day or two to see to 'family matters,' he was so pre-occupied that he signed off on my leave without question. He knows I have no family...uhm, how is he?"

John relaxed a bit and murmured, "he is beginning to heal physically, I think it will be a long time before he begins to heal emotionally. Was he - did he - wet work?"

Anthea nodded. "He was the most effective assassin SIS has ever had, he -"

"SIS - he officially worked for MI-6?" John shuddered, finally understanding how close he had come to never seeing Sherlock again.

"No one 'officially' does wet work for SIS. Eventually Sherlock -"

"Would have 'disappeared' but since he'd already been officially dead for two years - bloody hell - does Mycroft hate his brother that much?"

"No, quite the opposite, actually. Someday, after you get Sherlock home, ask him about his other brother - Mycroft thought it kinder..."

"Kinder?" John shivered, and Sherlock shifted in his arms.

"Shhh, it's okay, love. I'm here."

Anthea put the suitcases down and nodded at John. "If you need anything else, here is my private number -" she handed him her card, which had no name, just a London number. "I'm glad he has you. I wish -" she closed her mouth, bowed her head in farewell and left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My thoughts on the 'third brother'...purely theoretical of course...

I need to know - JW

About? - MH

The other brother. I'm not going to ask him, but I need to know. - JW

Why? What reason could you possibly have for wanting to know - MH

about a family tragedy? - MH

I love him. - JW

Ah, you think it's that simple. Sentiment. Bloody hell. - MH

He's been having nightmares, yes? - MH

Yes. Some are in languages I don't understand, but, there is a name, I don't quite - those are the worst. - JW

Sherrinf - oh, very good, Dr. Watson, well played. I suppose I've always underestimated you. I won't repeat that error. - MH

The documents will be sent over soon, you will understand, most of it is unreadable of course, National Security - MH

Of course - JW

John turned off his phone and looked back up to see Sherlock's eyes on him, not angry, exactly, more resigned, in sadness, if anything.

 

"Why?" His voice was rough from sleep and disuse.

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to know about Sherry?"

"I - I thought -"

"He was older than Mycroft, by 10 years. Naturally, Mycroft worshiped him, he could do no wrong, at least that's the story that was whispered around me as a child. I did not, chose, actually, not to speak until I was three, I learned early on people spoke more openly around me, as they thought I was slow. Sherry followed in my father's footsteps, Oxford at 16, then Diplomatic Corps at 20, then he became, to be blunt, a spy. A spy for hire. By the time he was sent home in disgrace, no one knew whose side he was on. Broke Myc's heart. It would have been easier if Sherry had never come home. Ah. Yes. I see how the story might be similar to our situation in your mind." He fell silent for so long, John thought he had gone back to sleep.

"No one actually knows what happened; whether he took his own life as an act of contrition, loneliness, or he was helped to make that decision. No one ever claimed credit. Not that they would, since, as technically, he had been dead for five years before he finally made it home."

"I'm so sorry - so -" John closed his eyes and sighed.

"I believe my brother's wrong-headed plan was well-intentioned. He knew of the pain our brother had suffered through - they had a code, they had invented it before Sherry went away to Oxford, and Sherry - he kept a journal, in that code, it was so ridiculously arcane, no one else has broken it - it's even taught at 'spy school'; no one has ever come close."

"No one but you. You broke it." John heard the truth in Sherlock's fading voice.

"Yes. I wish I hadn't. I read the journals. You have to understand, Sherry was brilliant, but he trusted easily and he always followed his heart, that's lovely if you are a poet, lethal if you happen to be a spy. He had fallen in love. Desperately, illogically and quite subversively with a beautiful Russian ballet dancer, he tried to get him asylum anywhere; would have lived anywhere just so he could be with him. So, MI-5 created a story, that Sherry was killed in action. Mycroft - god, it almost killed Myc. It was fine, until his dancer died in a car crash, and he started writing to Mycroft in the code only they (and I, eventually) knew. He wanted to return to England, to die at home. Father made it possible, but it ended his career. Mycroft would have become Prime Minister or whatever position he wanted, instead of the low level minister he became as a direct result of the sentiment of his family. He has as much power as he does by sheer determination and cold, at times, rather heartless logic. So, I do understand his thought process here, but he was undone by sentiment. Once again."

Sherlock leaned against John's chest, closed his eyes and this time, fell into a deep sleep.

John turned his phone back on.

 

Apologies, Mycroft. I meant no offense. - JW

None taken, please take care of him? - MH

I will, you have my word. - JW

 

Mycroft opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle and a cut crystal tumbler. He poured himself a double and tossed it back. He thought back over the last few days and groaned. He had let his anger and frustration undermine everything that he had spent years working for.

I assume your 'family issue' has come to a satisfactory conclusion? - MH

I believe so, Sir. I make no excuses. I will tender my resignation. - A

You will do no such thing. You were quite correct in your actions. I was in the wrong. - MH

Sir? - A

I shall pick you up at the airport? - MH

Sir? Yes, Sir. - A


	7. Chapter 7

John returned from the loo to see Sherlock gazing at him intently, biting his lip.

"What?"

"May I ask a favour?" 

"Of course. Anything."

"Do you think, uhm, you could wash my hair? If it's too much, maybe a nur -?"

John rolled his eyes, then smiled. "Who do you think has been giving you sponge baths twice a day? You wouldn't let the nurse touch you, so I've been - damn, a bit not good?"

"Uhm...no, it just explains the decent - the, hmm, rather frankly brilliant dreams I've been having, in between the nightmares. Your hands, you are so gentle with me, so much gentleness - I don't deserve -" a tear ran down his nose and John bent down to him, so Sherlock could look into his eyes.

"You don't deserve what happened to you; I am gentle with you, because I love you, and I want to care for you."

Sherlock blinked at him and whispered, "that word again, seems so small for something so earth-shattering."

"Is it so hard to believe that I love you?" John asked quietly, then he sat back and waited.

"Mmm - yes; uhm, no. No. I just never thought you could forgive me for leaving you, for making you watch - allowing you to think - but I do see it, I do hear it in the way you speak to me, and I feel it when you hold me, so carefully - I believe you do love me, yes, John."

John found himself staring into Sherlock's eyes, at a loss for words for a moment, or two, might have been ten, he wasn't quite sure. Finally, Sherlock touched his face and he let go of the breath he had been holding. "Uhm. Right. Let me get the wheelchair, I think if we put a pillow behind your back, it might not hurt so much. I thought I could trim your hair first -"

"John."

"and then we'll wash your hair, perhaps Anthea thought to send along some of your -"

"John. Stop."

" 'hair products,' it may be a while before your hair goes back to norm-" He started to rise when Sherlock placed a quivering finger on John's lips to stop his stream of chatter.

"Breathe."

"I am breathing. At least I think I am?"

"Slow down. I'm here. Not going anywhere. Not without you, ever again."

John sighed, then nodded. "Just a haircut? Right?"

"Right. Just a haircut."

John stood up and got the wheelchair from the corner of the room and pushed it next to the bed. He gingerly lifted Sherlock into his arms, almost shuddering as he felt each rib, and how much weight he had lost.

Sherlock leaned against his chest and murmured, "I think you need to feed me up a bit?"

John embraced him as tightly as he could without hurting him. "That, I can do." He kissed Sherlock's forehead and placed him carefully in the chair, cringing as he heard the sharp intake of breath.

"I'm fine -"

"I know you're not 'fine.' Please tell me when it's too much?"

Sherlock nodded and managed a tight smile."I think you promised me a haircut?"

"So I did."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time is off-kilter in this piece as it is, so in this particular verse, the Fall happened in December; though ACD canon has it in May, and on Sherlock, in July. I prefer to think of the Fall as happening on a grey, drizzly, dampish day.

John wheeled Sherlock over to the window so he could see the newly fallen snow, while he attempted to untangle the unruly mass of curls.

"It's beautiful," Sherlock whispered. "What's the date?"

"Hmm?" John muttered as he began cutting, he shook his head, knowing the curls would grow back, eventually.

"Date, today's date?"

"December 25th." John mumbled without thinking.

"Christmas. A white Christmas, John. There were times when I didn't think I'd see another Christmas -"

John laid the scissors down and walked around the chair to face his friend. "We never got the hang of how to celebrate Christmas like normal people, did we?"

"We shared only the one, and -" Sherlock looked down at his mangled hands, most of his fingers in splints. "If you could have anything for Christmas, John, what would it be?" he spoke so quietly, John almost didn't hear him.

"I have everything I need right here in front of me."

Sherlock glanced up shyly. "You always were a romantic, John Watson. Seriously, what -."

John closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "You, standing at the window, in our flat, playing Christmas carols. Aubergine shirt, tight black trousers, your curls, just so. You are playing for me, just for me. And when you finish, I am standing behind you, I turn you, take the bow out of your hand and put it away, then I take your violin and place it carefully in the case. I close it, then look into your bright, sparkling eyes, and ask if I can take you to bed. And you say-"

"Yes. God, yes." Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes, trying to imagine the scene as John has laid it before him. When he wakes up twenty minutes later John is there smiling at him, a sprig of mistletoe in his hand.

"May I kiss you? Tradition and all?"

Sherlock nods, and John leans in, offering a sweetly tender kiss. So sweet that Sherlock sighs against John's lips, and can feel John smile against his own. John pulls away and lays a hand in Sherlock's new closely cropped hair. The detective releases a breath, perhaps Irene was right, haircut, shave, and new suit -

"I finished trimming your hair, shall we try to wash what's left?"

"Please?"

 

"Can you, uhm, phone Myc for me?"

"Are you sure?"

"It's Christmas, John -"

"Of course, I can put it on speaker phone and go out in the hallway-"

"NO. No, stay, please?"

John nodded, punched in the number and held the phone near Sherlock's ear, and they waited nervously for the phone to be picked up.

 

"Yes?"

"Myc?"

"Sherlock?"

"Uhm, yeah, it's Christmas. I know you hate Christmas, but I wanted to -"

"Happy Christmas, Sherlock to you and your doctor."

"Happy Christmas, Myc."

Sherlock nodded and John ended the call.

 

Anthea entered the library with a snifter of brandy, and placed it carefully into Mycroft's shaking hands.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm. Yes."

"What -"

"He phoned to wish me a Happy Christmas. I came so close to -"

"I know."

"I -"

"Shh. Finish your drink, love, and come to bed."


	9. Chapter 9

"Why did you stay?" Sherlock muttered against John's chest.

"When?"

"After I - " He didn't know what to call the faking of his death, wasn't sure how to -

"I, uhm, I tried to leave, I looked at smaller flats closer to work, but each night, I'd always go back to Baker Street. I couldn't leave. Honestly, it was the only place that ever felt like home to me. Now I know it's not the flat that was home, it was you. All of my life, all of my life, Sherlock, I had been searching for a place to call home, but it wasn't a place, those months, with you were -" John's voice shuddered to a halt, and Sherlock felt him shaking beneath him.

"John?" Sherlock whispered.

"I'm fine -" John snorted as he tried to catch his breath.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry - I just never expected you to - I didn't know, until I heard you that day, begging me not to jump, I heard you, I knew, and there was nothing I could do to stop you from watching, and I knew you loved me."

"I should have told you -"

"What?"

"That day, I have always regretted not telling you, I used to think if I had just told you -"

"Oh, John. John, love. No. I knew. I think I always knew, but was afraid - I didn't think I had anything of value to offer you, I didn't think I was enough, I thought one day you'd meet someone, settle down - I couldn't let myself believe that you could want me, or need me in that way, it would have crushed me if I ever let down my guard enough, and you didn't feel the same wa- " Sherlock took a deep breath and made himself move just enough to see John cover his eyes with his hand. "John - I - damn, I'm so - "

John shook his head. "No more apologies? Just, I don't know, promise me, that you will never think you are unworthy of my love. You are - the only person I've ever loved, the only person I want to be with for the rest of my life."

Sherlock closed his eyes and laid his aching head on John's chest. "I promise."

John kissed the top of his head and wrapped both arms around Sherlock, as they both fell asleep to the gentle whisper of falling snow.


	10. Chapter 10

His condition? - MH

And a Happy New Year to you, Mycroft. - JW

How is he? - MH

The pneumonia has cleared up, he's eating, weight's up a couple pounds, everything else will just take time to heal. - JW

You still intend to take him back to Baker Street, I presume? - MH

It's his home. Our home. Yes. - JW

I could arrange something, you two could live anywhere. - MH

No. He wants to go home. - JW

There will be difficulties, the media will be merciless. - MH

Do you think they can be any worse than they were two years ago? I survived. - JW

But will he? - MH

He has always been stronger than you gave him credit for. And, he won't be alone. - JW

How much longer until he can travel? - MH

A week? Maybe two? - JW

Very well. Tell him I was thinking of him. And tell him - MH

Yes? - JW

I'm sorry, I was wrong? - MH

I will. - JW

I do care. I'm just not used to -. - MH

Yes, I know. Sentiment? - JW

Sentiment. - MH

 

"You know he needs to be home. He needs London. London needs him more." 

"I know, I just wonder if he will ever be the person he was before."

"Of course he won't be. How could he after -"

"But?"

"But, he has John."

"What do you mean -?"

"You never saw it. Of course you didn't. You never thought he was -"

"I never thought he would be capable of loving anyone. One must have been given something before one can give it to someone else. By the time he was old enough to understand, there was very little left. And I. I couldn't allow myself to love him the way he needed and deserved to be. Not after - "

Anthea waited, knowing he needed to say his brother's name, knowing he needed to make peace with the ghost of not only his older brother, but with the spectre of his own shortcomings.

"-Sherry. He broke my heart. He was my hero, I stopped believing in heroes and other fairy stories after he died the first time. And when he came home...he looked at my face once and knew. He said, 'you should never make people into heroes. They don't exist, Myc. It's okay. I understand.' He smiled at me, then turned away and went upstairs to his old rooms. I never saw him alive again." 

"It wasn't your fault." Anthea whispered.

"Of course it was."

"Look at me, Mycroft Holmes. No. Don't turn away. Look at me. It.was.not.your.fault. I've seen his file. You know better than anyone -"

"And yet - I knew what could happen in the field, I still let Sherlock - there were other ways, but I, we worked so well together, most of the plan was his, he is brilliant, even more so than Sherry when he was at the top of his game - but on the roof - I heard it all, Anthea, I heard it in his voice when Moriarty called his bluff. I realised he loved John Watson, and it was Sherry all over again, I failed to protect him."

"Myc. Love. It was never your job to protect him. He knew Moriarty better than anyone, knew how his mind worked. He also knew the risks - he did what he did to save those he loved. You did what you could. Your only 'job' is to love him. That's all he's ever wanted."

Mycroft sighed and reached for his phone.

"John? Let me speak to him, please?"

"When he wakes up then? I really need to - good. Thank you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missing scene

"Sir?" Anthea walked down the steps and onto the tarmac, trying to think of how to reason her way out of this; he usually listened to reason, except when it came to Sherlock.

"Allow me to take your bag, Anthea?"

"No bag, Sir. I -"

"No. Don't say anything, yet. Wait until we get home."

"Home?"

"I meant my flat. I was hoping, however-"

Anthea's eyes popped, then just as quickly returned to their usual neutral state. "Sir."

 

He pulled up in front of his posh address, turned the car off, then sat quietly for a moment, as if attempting to talk himself into or out of a decision he had already made. 

"Will you have dinner with me?" He looked down at his watch. "Or, uhm, stay for breakfast?"

"I would, I, uhm, I will, Sir."

"No more Sir, Anthea, not here, please?"

"What shall I call you, then?"

"Whatever comes to mind?"

She reached over tentatively and touched his hand. "How does, 'Love' grab you?" She felt his hand tremble under hers, and she whispered softly, "we can proceed as slowly as you want, Myc. Just know, I've always wanted to know what that remarkable mind of yours would do if -"

Mycroft groaned softly as she moved her hand to his thigh. He turned to look at her finally and swallowed hard. He had never seen anyone look at him in that way before. He was beginning to understand how his brothers were willing to die for the people they held most dear if their partners looked at them the way Anthea was glancing at him at that moment. "I want -"

"What do you want, Myc?"

"- to kiss you, but, not out here -"

She laughed as she knew exactly where all of the CCTV cameras were and how they were aimed, in case of possible kidnappings. "Understood. Inside then, S- Mycroft?"

"Please?"

Anthea opened her door, dragging her hand along his inseam as she turned to step out of the car. She smothered a giggle as she heard him swear quietly. She walked around the car, and opened the driver's side door.

"Sir?" Her eyes twinkled in amusement as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't worry about that, I can help, if you wish."

"Anthea..." He slid his legs out of the car and pushed himself out to standing upright.

"Sir."

Once they had safely made it past the front door, and Mycroft had reset his alarm system, he pulled her into his arms, and for a long moment, he simply held onto her, taking in her slight citrusy scent; the texture of her hair as he touched it for the first time, and lastly her shape; which was always hidden beneath the black business suits her job required.

"Anthea -"

"Myc."

"I -" She felt him shudder in her arms and she waited. "I want - I need - please?"

She pulled away so she could see his face. "Myc. Look at me. You can tell me anything, everything. Later. But right now, all I want is for you to take me to your bed and I want to make love to you. I want to break you, then put you back together, I want to hear you scream my name as you are coming, and I want you to forget for just a few minutes. We all need someone who can make us forget."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oops, this got a bit angstier than I expected. Mention of minor character death.

Mycroft's phone vibrated, once, twice before he reached for it.

 

"Myc?"

"Sherlock."

"John said you phoned?" Mycroft could hear the pain in his brother's voice, though he was trying his best to hide it.

"I wanted - I just needed to hear your voice."

"Okay?"

"Give me a minute. I'm -"

"Breathe, Myc, take your time. I am a rather captive audience for the foreseeable future."

"I'm sorry. I -"

"As I am sure Anthea has already reminded you. I knew the risks, It is not your fault, Myc."

"I don't want absolution -"

Sherlock waited for a moment before he whispered hoarsely. "What do you want Myc?" 

"I - don't really know. But I need you to know I love you. I should have told you more often when it mattered -"

There was a long silence, followed by a fit of coughing.

"Sher-?"

"It still matters, Myc. More than you know. Sherry knew you loved him, too."

"Sherlock -:"

"He did. I used to sit with him. I read him stories after he came home, I was the only one who would visit with him. He didn't blame any of you, he knew that you didn't understand, he just wanted to be with his dancer. If he hadn't OD'd, he simply would have withered away, it just would have taken a bit more time."

"Why, why didn't you tell -" Mycroft whispered, tears rolling down his face.

"Who exactly was I to tell? You? You were so angry, you were summoned home from school when he returned. He tried to speak to you, but you walked away. Then caught the train back that same afternoon. Our parents? They were numb, Mum thought he had died years before, Father, he knew, he helped kill him the first time - he was as culpable as - they ignored my existence as much as possible. Sherry listened. Told me stories. No. Not of his work. Of you and him, when you were kids. You played pirates -"

"and spies. God."

"Myc, he wasn't angry, he loved you. He was so proud of you, he knew how much his actions would cost you. Of course he did. He wanted to make amends, but he knew no matter what he said to you, it would make no difference."

"Were you there when -"

Again a long silence.

"Yes. I held his hand, and told him that I loved him."

"You were -"

"It was my 11th birthday. He actually apologised. He had forgotten until I walked into the room."

"No wonder -"

"Yeah, I'm not overly fond of that day."

"What did you -"

"I dialed the number he left on the note."

"He left -"

"Yes. I read it, dialed the number, then I burned it as he requested. I cried for the last time until I was standing on the roof trying to say good-bye to - damn - I'm sorry, John. I need to call you back Myc."

Mycroft sat and listened to a dial tone until Anthea took his mobile from his hand and ended the call.

She held him as he wept, and answered Sherlock's call.

"Can he call you back, Sherlock?"

"Of course. I am sorry for -"

"No, he hasn't ever really grieved for Sherry, you are giving that to him. Thank you."

"Please take care of him, Anthea."

"Don't I always?"

"Thank you - and tell him, I - love him too?"

"Tell him later, hmm?"

"I will."


	13. Chapter 13

Mycroft blinked awake. Anthea was wrapped tightly around him, both were still dressed. He pulled away carefully, leaned against the hard wooden headboard and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Why? Damn. Sherry. Sherlock - he needed to talk to him, he needed, what? He tried pressing his hands on the sides of his head, trying to stop the feeling that he was rapidly flying apart. A drink? No.

 

"Sherlock?"

"Hold on -"

"Myc? I'm sor -"

"Don't be. I'm the one who should apologise, I let you down when you were eleven, I'm letting you down now."

"You got me out; yes, you sent Irene - but you got me out, and I do believe you knew she would let John know. You could have sent anyone, but you chose Irene. You could have prevented John from getting on the plane, or getting off the plane. You let him come to me because you knew I needed him; he needed me."

"You give me entirely too much credit." Mycroft swore he could hear Sherlock roll his eyes.

"Perhaps, I knew Ms. Adler still held some feeling for you; and for argument's sake, let's say I had an idea she would let Dr. Watson know of your 'not dead' status. I don't know why -"

"You always know."

"No. When I had intel you had last been heard from in Serbia, then disappeared, I panicked. I needed someone with a certain skill set, and once she could no longer stand to fly under the radar - but it wasn't in my thought process then that she might break protocol -"

A snort. Yes. Sherlock snorted, ah, well, at least he was well on his way to -

"What?"

"I said, 'the hows and whys are of little importance, you saved me, and I thank you for that.' " Sherlock yawned.

"It's John, he's falling asleep. Sorry."

"How are the nightmares?" 

"Some nights are worse than others, sometimes I give him a mild sedative to help him sleep, he needs to rest in order to heal - look, I know we have never been what I would call, 'chummy,' but, I want to thank you for allowing me to care for him -"

"You love him? Yes?"

"Very much. Bloody hell, that sounds bland. I love your brother, always have, I think you had an inkling from the beginning? Yes. I thought so. Wish Anthea a Happy New Year from us, won't you?"

"Yes, of course - damn - you will have a private jet at your disposal when he has healed enough to return home."

"Thank you, Mycroft."

"No, thank you, John."

 

"You are a good man, Mycroft Holmes." Anthea whispered into the darkness.

"No, no I'm not, but I'm hoping you will teach me how to be a better one?" He sighed as she laid her head against his chest, and managed to wrap her long, muscular limbs around his, essentially trapping him.

"It would be my pleasure, love."


	14. Chapter 14

John sighed as he turned his mobile off. "I wish - I wish I could take the pain away - I would switch places with you if I could."

Sherlock's eyes popped open and he shook his head. "No. John, please don't say that. Don't ever say that."

"I just meant -"

"I know." Sherlock muttered in a hushed voice. "But I did what I did to make sure you didn't get hurt. All this happened because I got cocky."

John smirked and lightly touched Sherlock's hair which seemed the only place that didn't hurt. "You? Cocky? I can't imagine."

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. "You know, my lips don't hurt anymore."

"Really?"

Sherlock nodded.

John moved closer and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. They both released a breath, and Sherlock carefully moved his hand to touch John's face. "I want so much, John. I - "

John gingerly nuzzled his friend's neck, and felt him shiver. When he pulled back to look into Sherlock's eyes, he saw pain mixed with curiosity, need battled exhaustion as tears threatened to fall. "Hey, I know, believe me, love, I know. But, right now, we have to focus on getting you strong enough so I can take you home. Can you try to sleep for me?"

"Please, John, tell me you will stay?" Sherlock voice seemed to melt against John's shoulder, as he once again tumbled into sleep.

"Yes, love, of course I will stay."

 

"Myc?" Anthea searched for him in the dark.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you - I need to go to the office, a lot of work to do."

"Ah. I see."

Mycroft sighed. "No. You don't see. You are making an assumption based on what you know of other men, and what you think I will do."

"Balance of probability. Sir. I'll get a cab." Anthea slid out of bed and began dressing, with a quiet detachment that startled him.

"Damn it, what did you think this was?"

"Sir?" She pulled on her boots then straightened up to her full height as she faced him, arms straight down at her sides. She was completely at ease, save for the tension she held in her jaw. Her eyes blazed away at him, as she grew accustomed to the darkness."I would not presume to assume anything before I have all of the facts."

"Good. Simply put, I am at a loss. I am ill-equipped to deal with this emotional tsunami that I find myself in. I was hoping by going to work, a place I had previously considered a safe haven, I could determine how to go about carrying on with things."

"And then?"

"And then?" Mycroft sighed then walked over to stand in front of her. "I would very much like to take you to dinner after work, then come back here and make love to you, take you apart bit by bit until you scream my name, and you understand how completely I want you, need you and -"

"and, what, Myc?"

"and love you, Anthea. I would like it very much, please?"

"I would like nothing better, love. Now, according to your calendar, there is nothing until 11 this morning, and it is a scheduled appointment with your dentist."

"And then?"

"Nothing of importance."

"Cancel the appointment please, and come back to bed."

"Consider it done, Sir."

"Anthea -"

"Apologies. My love." She undid his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Old habits," she whispered against his skin.


	15. Chapter 15

John's hand felt for Sherlock's now familiar shape that usually resided nearby. It came up empty. He decided not to panic. Not quite yet. It had been a month, a month of confessions, admissions, nightmares and dreams, dreams that neither had believed would ever come to fruition. Sherlock had just started pushing himself in his wheelchair, despite the pain in his fingers, arms and back.

"Stubborn arse." John muttered as he finally opened his eyes only to see Sherlock sitting at the window. Somehow, he had dressed himself, and had settled himself in the one comfortable chair in the room.

"You know it's one of my more endearing traits." Sherlock drawled as he pressed his slowly healing hands against the coolness of the window pane.

"Which? The stubbornness or your lovely arse?" John grumbled as he threw on his robe and walked across the room to stand behind his friend. He paused for a moment before bending down to leave a gentle kiss behind Sherlock's left ear.

"Ah, so you've noticed."

"A bit, yeah, a bit difficult to ignore, love."

Sherlock leaned back against John, sighing as John draped his arms around his shoulders. "I'm ready, John. I'm ready to go home. Please?"

"Yeah, love, I believe you are."

 

He's ready to go home - JW

Are you sure? - MH

Yes. He needs to be home - JW

The jet is on its way. - MH

Thank you - JW

 

Mycroft was smoking at the window, looking down on Baker Street, but he had somehow missed his brother's arrival, leaning heavily on John's shoulder, with a sturdy walking stick in his left hand.

"Those things will kill you, you know." Sherlock's voice made him turn quickly, it was stronger than he remembered and somehow possibly a bit wiser, but it was him. Mycroft rolled his eyes and stubbed out the cigarette in - really? One of the Queen's own - ah, yes, of course. How long ago that little case seemed now.

"May I -?" He felt at a loss, feeling like he should fluff a pillow, offer to make tea, something -

"Sit? Please? You may use mine, believe the couch will do me for a few more weeks." John helped Sherlock out of his coat carefully, then took the stick, leaning it against the wall and tenderly scooped the detective into his arms, placing a kiss on his forehead before walking over to the couch and depositing him lightly onto it.

Mycroft moved his brother's chair closer to the couch, not yet ready to meet the eyes he knew were watching and waiting for him. He supposed he should make some overture, a gesture of some kind. He sighed and sat, finally raising his eyes to meet his brother's.

"Anthea is rather good for you, I see."

Mycroft's silence brought forth a burble of thought - "Less drinking these days, that was your one cigarette, no, you are cheating a bit today, that was a second, you were anxious, you had checked and rechecked your phone before you decided to risk lighting the second one. New suit, she chose it, you would never wear those colours normally, you wore it because the present pleased you, and it made her happy that you chose it today, as it meant you had made a decision. Not truly an impulsive act, not rash, as you have known her for 12 years -"

"When you are able - will you, stand up with me, Sherlock?"

"Yes, Myc, I'd be honoured." Sherlock held out a shaky hand, the splints had been taken off, showing the deep lacerations that were still raw, finally beginning to heal. Mycroft gently took it in his. "Will you be able -"

"To play again? Perhaps. It will take time, like everything else. Don't, Myc. Please?"

"I - there should be something I can say, or do -"

"Leave it be in the past where it belongs, there is nothing you owe me, words do not exist that will erase it, it is not yours to own, Myc. You are not responsible for me, nor for Sherry -"

"Sherlock."

"We made choices, he and I - I was fortunate, the man who I chose to love is good, kind, and wise. Sherry was not so lucky. Our choices were ours to make, not a reflection upon you. We love who we love, convenient or no." His eyes twinkled in merriment, but the nightmares and pain lingered behind the humour.

"I have a meeting, but wanted to see you were settled -"

"I love you, too, Myc. When I am a bit stronger John and I would like to buy you and Anthea dinner?" His voice began to fade, the short trip had taken the little reserves he had.

Mycroft's eyes misted, but he managed to nod and clear his throat. "We'd like that very much. I am very happy to see you back in these rooms. You were missed, brother mine." He watched as Sherlock's eyes closed, then carefully replaced his brother's hand on his chest. He stood, then bent down to kiss his brother's forehead. "You were missed, more than you will ever know."

"John."

"Mycroft. Thank you for coming today, I know you must be busy. It means a great deal to him."

"If you or he ever needs -"

"We'll let you know."

Mycroft nodded, then grabbed his umbrella before he made his way down the stairs and back into the waiting black sedan.


	16. Chapter 16

"I think you're more nervous than I am." Sherlock propped himself up on an elbow and watched John's eyes darken a bit more."What are you scared of?"

"I'm not - I just don't want to disappoint you." 

"You could never do that, John."

"You have to tell me if I hurt you. Look at me? Promise me?" John laid a hand on Sherlock's jaw, and he winced as he felt himself tremble. 

"John - I've been home four bloody months. Sorry. I'm sorry. I promise." 

"You've been hurt enough and I want this to - ohhhh -" he struggled to catch his breath as Sherlock ran a single finger over his chest, barely touching him, yet making his skin feel like - he wasn't quite sure, but he knew no one had ever touched him with such love before. All he knew was that he wanted more of - "bloody hell! No, don't stop, please don't stop -" Sherlock grinned down at John.

"Open your eyes, John. I want to see your ey - oh, John, you are so lovely." Sherlock covered John's body with his own - their hips, thighs and their mildly interested lengths met. "John? Oh - mmmmmnnn fuck."

John giggled as Sherlock whispered into his neck. "Sorry - I - just, I didn't know, John - I mean, I thought I knew, but - I -"

"Slow, hmmm? We'll go slowly, this isn't a race, we have all the time -" John stopped, and Sherlock sat up, trying to read John's face, wondering what he had done wrong.

"No, you did nothing wrong, I just, I never thought -"

"We don't have to do this tonight. Can I, will you let me hold you?"

"Your back -"

"Is healing, let me, please?" Sherlock laid down on his back, and John rolled onto his side, taking a stuttering breath as he gazed at the man he loved in ways he still could not logically wrap his mind around. He closed his eyes and nodded. Soon, he felt Sherlock's arms fold gently around him and he found himself pressed against his best friend's chest; he sensed Sherlock's heartbeat surrounding him, allowing him to catch his breath.

"I dreamed of holding you like this -" the voice rumbled beneath him.

"How long?" John whispered, his own timbre sounded alien, a voice he didn't recognise.

"Longer than I can remember. Before time, I suppose."

John snorted, and raised himself up enough to look at Sherlock's face. He had never seen his friend look so at peace before, the tightness in his jaw had relaxed, the darkness that had resided in his eyes seemed to vanish and he appeared years younger somehow.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmmm?"

"May I? Uhm, can I try again? I mean, can we try, I want, god, I want you so much, love."

Sherlock's bright eyes found John's and he nodded. "Please, John?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will try to write a bit of fluff today, right now, it's a tough sell.

Sherlock woke up alone. He took a deep breath and reached his hand out, John's side was empty, cold, as if he had never been there. He sighed and felt for his phone.

Out getting milk. - JW

Sent two hours ago. Sherlock closed his eyes and listened. Raining. He ran his hands over his face and tried to take a deep breath. So. Tea or shower. Definitely shower. His eyes adjusted slowly to the grey light. Shower. Move. One leg, then the other. Push up, stand up. Breathe. It's fine. No. No it isn't. Not really, but - steps. Steps. John's shoes running up the stairs, taking them off. Not stopping in kitchen. No milk. Taking wet jumper off, now trousers, socks. Get back in bed? Pretend? No. Shower. 

"Sherlock?"

"John."

"I can explain."

"I need a shower."

"Need help?"

"No."

"Sorry. Of course you don't. I meant."

"What?"

"I meant, damn it, may I join you?"

"Do you want to?"

"Of course I do."

"I don't know how to do this, John."

"This?"

"Trust. Love. This thing, whatever it is, was? I don't know. You have to tell me, so I don't mess it up? For the first time in months, I wake up and you aren't next to me. We made love, or what I thought was love - was I wrong?"

"No."

"No?"

"I needed time to think. I started walking and just kept going, and then I thought of you. And I ran the three miles back because I needed to feel your heartbeat in my fingers. I honestly don't know how to do this, either. I've never loved anyone before -"

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.

"It's true. I've had sex before, but I've never made love with anyone but you."


	18. Chapter 18

"John?" Sherlock muttered as he washed John's hair.

"Mhmmm?"

"What spooked you?"

"Wha -?"

"Why did you run?" He rinsed John's hair then looked into his lover's eyes as he turned to face him.

"Turn 'round and bend a bit so I can wash your hair, you lanky git." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but turned away and lowered his head.

"I hadn't ever, uhm. I didn't know how different it could be. No one has ever changed me by touching me before last night."

"What do you mean -?" Sherlock whispered, then sighed as he felt John's fingers in his hair.

"I'm saying this badly, I know. You touched me like I was necessary, something precious -"

Sherlock turned to face John again, and looked in his eyes. "You are, John. You are essential -"

"No -" John shook his head and tried to avoid Sherlock's gaze. "I've never - when you, ran your fingers over me, and then slowly sank down - when your eyes glittered at me, and you smiled as I felt you - bloody hell - and then you curled up around me, and fell asleep, like I was your -"

"My home, John. You are and always have been my home."

"There - that - you aren't even touching me and I can barely breathe from wanting you -"

"And this frightens you?" Sherlock's voice somehow became lower and richer.

"It terrifies me."

"Why?"

"I can't lose you again. It will finish me - to know what it finally feels like, what you feel like, I can't, I don't know how I would be able to go on breathing if something happened to you." John turned away, his face on fire from the words he let slip.

"I am not leaving you."

"You can't make me that promise."

"I can and I do." Sherlock took John's hand in his, kissed it gently, then placed it over his own heart. "My heart, John. It's yours. As it always has been. Ever will be."


	19. Chapter 19

"You have the rings."

"Yes, for the umpteenth time -"

"Fine. Good."

"Mum -"

"powdering her nose."

"Again?"

"Though I had my doubts, you are well-suited. You are happy, yes?"

"Happy? Hmm - content, perhaps?"

"Splitting hairs, surely?"

"Oh. God."

"Indeed, Old Fred outdid himself -"

"Shhh...."

"Will - apologies - Sherlock Holmes, do you take John Watson to be your -"

"Yes."

"You do need to let the man finish his question, love."

"Why? The answer is still - oh, allllllright."

"lawfully wedded husband?"

"Now?"

"Now."

"Yes. Now may I - oh. Right, sorry - carry on."

"John Watson, do you take Sherlock Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"God, yes."

"You may now kiss -"


	20. Chapter 20

"May I?" John stopped Sherlock before they crossed their threshold, and grinned as his husband rolled his eyes, but nodded. John scooped him into his arms, and paused, remembering -

"John?" Sherlock touched his cheek and John blew out a shuddering breath. "I'm okay. I'm here. I'm here because of you, as whole as I ever will be because of you. Now, as amazing as you look in that suit, I want to take it off of you, bit by bit, until you are - hey, love. John."

"Sorry." John sniffed back the tears that he had never shed, and carried Sherlock into their bedroom. He placed him gently on the edge of the bed and bent down to remove Sherlock's shoes.

"I can do that, you know?" Sherlock ruffled John's hair playfully, trying to bring him back to the present.

"I know. I want to." John kept his head down, not wanting Sherlock to see his face.

Sherlock sat quietly and waited.

"The first time I saw you when I entered your room in Germany, you were having a nightmare, you were trying to find me, you were screaming my name. I threw them out, Mycroft fled, and I sat next to you. I couldn't hold your hand, the idiots had put a restraint on the wrist that wasn't broken, most of your fingers were bandaged. Your face, it was still so bruised - so I laid my hand in your hair. You stopped screaming and you opened your eyes. You didn't see me, I don't know what you were seeing, but it wasn't me."

"You said, 'I'm here, Sherlock, I'm here. I love you. I'm not leaving until you are ready to go home with me.' And you stayed. You stayed."

Sherlock tilted John's face up and shook his head. "No tears, love. You kept your promise. We are home."

"I love you."

"I know, John, and I love you. Now, take those shoes off so I can start divesting you of all that bespoken loveliness."

"Yes, husband." John's eyes glittered with the tears he would save for later.


End file.
